All This Way
by Amarintha
Summary: For the Short Ride -Tom Russell, love the song. Anyways, Mish's much belated b-day fic, no Ruby, hurt Dean, Frantic Sammy, and a good dose of Castiel. Rating T because I don't know what's gonna happen, but it's not real gory, and I'm not big on swearing
1. Chapter 1

_Happy Birthday Mish. :} Hope this fills all the requirements you had in mind. Thanks to PADavis for the beta, always. Hope it wasn't too painful to slog through. This is going to be more the vein of Deliverance, so…beware of random changes in story telling. It's all intentional and for a reason. Oh, and special thanks to Goddesslaughs for the medical know-how and all that other crap she does to help a story along. :} _

Rain splattered softly down onto the remains of an old Victorian styled house, long abandoned. The dust filled air was swiftly overcome with water, hitting the broken form of a man through a large hole in the ceiling. The incessant wetness caused him to stir slightly, while the giant form of a beast shook itself in the corner, and began to stride purposefully, if cautiously, across the room.

I can't really see that well. I mean, sure, I can see the pipe coming out of my chest at an angle, pointing up at the destroyed ceiling. It's the ceiling I can't see. I can't feel too good, either. I mean, I don't feel good, and there's nothing below my waist. Figure that's a good thing, since the damn thing snapped my knee in. But I can feel the blood running over my chin, blood running down my chest and along my stomach. Rain, too, I think. Or else I'm just cold, I'm not sure. But something's making it hard to breathe. Maybe it's just the blood.

Don't see Sam. Hope he's okay, so I can kill him later.

Can't move. Funny to come this far just to get stopped by a....musta hit my head. By a ...we were on a hunt.

I cough weakly, feeling blood spill past my teeth to drip over my chin. Ugh.

Something. Abandoned house. Damn it. Sam'll know. He okay? Got thrown through the ceiling. Maybe took the pipe with me.

The thing...is right there. That's not good. Hey Sam? Might wanna shoot it now. Or did that not work? Damn. Arm hurts. What happened to my arm? It's kinda big. Like scary big. Like it can eat your feet big.

It's bloody. Whose blood? Hopefully not mine. Or Sam's. Don't let it be Sam's. At least I think it's bloody. Can't see it that well. My vision's all red anyways…

…the hell..?

--

White light filled the room slowly spilling away to reveal the silhouette of a single figure standing in front of Dean. Holding out its arm, it splayed its fingers wide before making a fist. The beast howled before it dropped to the ground, guts and flesh splattering everywhere as it imploded. Floorboards and debris shifted as Sam started to force his way free of the soggy rubble.

Castiel ignored it and made his way over to Dean, picking his way slowly over broken glass and rubble. Crouching down next to Dean's broken form, he glanced back at Sam, fingers sliding down Dean's arm, checking the damage before finding Dean's knee, and then exploring the broken bloodied flesh around the pipe. Dean groaned once when Castiel reached his chest before losing consciousness.

"Are you pleased with yourself?" Castiel asked quietly twisting to face Sam, his voice carrying clearly despite the increasing volume of the rain's pattering. "Is this what you had hoped to accomplish? I have told you, as has Uriel, as well as your own flesh and blood that these powers can bring no good."

He stood, turning to watch as Sam struggled free, a gash in his forehead bleeding sluggishly over the right side of his face. "Yet you continue to use them. You tell me, Sam Winchester, why I should not kill you here and now, just as I did the monster that stood before me." Tilting his head slightly, he considered the weakened form in front of him before twisting back to look at Sam.

"Have you learned nothing? Or do you just not care?"

He pulled Dean free of the pipe with an unpleasant squelching sound as bloodied flesh slipped away from metal, "Despite your actions, your brother will live. And perhaps through the grace of God, he will walk again to hunt by your side."

--

"…Caucasian male late twenties...gunshot wound to the chest"

"Blood pressure's bottoming out!"

"Quick! I need a…"

"…He's coding…"

"Paddles!...Charging….! Clear!"

"Come on…come on…!"

"…Clear!...Oh thank god…We've got him! Hang on…"

"Where did this guy come from?"

"…need to book an O.R…."

"Is that rust?"

"…clamp…more bandages…"

"Two units of blood. STAT..."

"…No I.D. nothing…"

--

"Welcome back," a warm voice says.

My answer sounds more like something Chewbaca might say than a person. Damn. Trying again: "hey…" I slur, before panic grips me. "Sam?!" Where's Sam? He's not here; he's always here when I wake up. Or else someone tells me where he is, it's the first thing they do. 'Your brother's outside waiting' or 'he's just getting coffee, he'll be right back' or something. Forcing my eyes open, I shift my vision, attempting to look around the room.

Let's play match the face to the voice. Everything's red and hazy, and for the most part out of focus. Then someone stands up from one of the chairs. Sam? No. Sam doesn't wear a trench coat. Sam's also Sasquatch sized, well maybe more like Gigantor.

"Your brother's not here, Dean," he says grimly. Wherever the warm voice is, it doesn't notice Cas. I hate when angels do that.

"Sam?" the voice asks me, and I finally focus on a face in front of me, Cas fading back into the background.

"No one," I mumble, voice sounding better. Damn my leg hurts. Shouldn't I be on pain meds? If I have to be in this damn place I should at least get pain killers. Where's all the good stuff? I arch my back slightly in an attempt to shift my leg and hips into a more comfortable position before pausing. I just moved my back. I can feel my leg.

I really wish I couldn't.

What happened? And my chest? I had a pipe…came through my ribs, I remember that. Remember feeling the bone break and pieces shatter through my flesh. One hand goes quickly to my chest, and I feel the slight tug of the I.V. in the back of my hand. No morphine? They stick me with one of those and don't give me any…what if they did? Pain's a lot less easy to handle when it reminds you of…of things you'd rather not remember. I'm sore, really sore, but there's not a lot of damage there. That I can feel, at least not like before. I'm sure I look like bear-meat, but still. What the hell's going on? I know doctors aren't _that_ good. I've been in and out of enough hospitals to know something's wrong. The voice keeps talking, attached to a face with brown hair, but I'm just watching him sitting in the chair so calmly, waiting. Why he couldn't be visible…all these questions. Not that he'll answered a single one.

When the owner of the voice leaves, Cas stands up again, and walks over to the bed, looking down at me. Smug son of a bitch. I'm tempted to just close my eyes and go back to sleep. Not that I think I can. My leg's killing me. Feel like I went ten rounds with a cement block.

"Where's my brother, you asshole?"

"Your brother is wherever your brother is. He is not my concern."

"Well you'd better make him your concern," I hiss, fighting the pain. Hard to sound tough if your voice is cracking and your eyes are tearing. "Because I swear to God," and I pause for good measure, "that I am not doing a damn thing until he's back here. With me." Not that I can do all that much anyway, in my current condition. But it looks like all that painful prodding last night was for a reason. Assuming it's only been a day. Voice suddenly hoarse, I ask "How long?"

"Only two days."

How does he always look so calm? Wish I thought I had a chance of hitting him in the face. One of these days I'm just going to do it anyway. "Only?" Sam isn't here. Wait. "Where the hell am I?"

He looks away from me. "Damnit Cas, where am I?!" I sit up, crying out when pain ripples white hot agony through me, locking muscles and making my vision stutter. I drop back to the bed.

"You are where you will be safe," his voice is as flat as always. Son of a bitch.

"You know someone here will tell me, right? You _hid _me from my brother? Are you kidding me!?" I wish I could sit up. This would be so much better sitting up. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Dean," he says patiently, "I didn't hide you from anyone. If Sam wants to find you, he will."

"I really hate you guys." He just watches me, head tilted that little bit like I'm some bug he's not sure what to do with. "Why the hell do you think this is okay? This is my brother!"

"Your brother is an abomination," Castiel growled softly.

There's not much I can say to that, since I'm sputtering like an idiot looking for a way to make Castiel eat his words. But I don't know how. I can't even come up with any smart ass response, either.

"Your story is simple enough to remember, you were walking, and took a shortcut home. A group of muggers attacked you, shooting you through the chest at close range, again through the leg, and arm. When you went down they continued to beat you, partially fracturing your spine, and breaking a great many other bones, too."

"I'm supposed to know that the gun was close range?" I ask sarcastically. "Besides, I don't have a home."

Continuing like I never said anything, Castiel says calmly "the concussion explains why you have little to no memory of the event beyond the sound of a gun and pain as the men closed in on you. Your wallet was taken and you don't even know your name."

I bite back a mouthful of choice words. "You really….these are bullet wounds now?"

"No, but they are smaller," he says calmly, "We will contact you when we need you."

"I'm not doing a damn thing for you without my brother!"

Turning to fix me with a cold blue stare, "then I'm afraid your brother has outlived his usefulness."

"If you hurt my brother, I will kill you. Every last one of you sons of bitches."

"Then you will do as you are told. He will find you when it is necessary."

No, Sam'll be looking for me. We're brothers. It's what we do. It's what family does. "When it's necessary?" I try to sit up again, forcing my body forward before he looks right at me, meeting my eyes.

"You will do as you are told," he raises his hand before dropping it to his side and walking out of the room. I collapse back onto my back, chest straining. At least the pain in my leg is gone.

"Seriously!?" I yell after him, bringing a nurse running into the room. A guy nurse. Okay.

"You okay?" he asks, looking at the monitors and the I.V. Frowning a little, he messes with something I can't see, and by the time he's talking to me again, I'm so far gone the words mean nothing. Gotta love the good stuff.

The next time I wake up, I'm still alone. Panic starts to grip me, and I try to sit up, finding it a lot more difficult than when Cas was in the room. I can't move my leg to add any leverage either. Chest hurts. Guess the stuff wore off, or I'm really in a lot of pain. Don't want to know. Need a phone. Have to call Sam. Don't know where I am, what do I tell him? Gotta find out where the hell I am, first. Aren't their buttons in these hellholes you can hit?

Looking around doesn't do me a lot of good, but then again I'm not really all that mobile, either. Not good. So not good. Pushing the blankets off takes more effort than I anticipated, leaving me panting and gasping for air for several minutes before I can even look at myself. Leg's bound. Not in a cast, probably will be soon enough. Left arm's not doing me much good, thank god it's the left. Well, okay, thank that stupid creature for not going for my gun arm. Okay, hospital gown. I manage to get my right arm somewhere near the collar of the thing to pull it away from my chest. I just see bandaging. Chest hurts when I breathe. Gotta breathe shallower. Can't do it.

There's a nurse in the room, next thing I know. Musta passed out. Where's Sam? I need out of this hospital, for one. Where's Sam? He'll get me out of here. Okay, he wouldn't not in this condition, but he'd wait a little, promise me we'd leave, and soon enough he'd take me to Bobby's. I could call Bobby. I don't know where I am. Don't even know where I started out. I'm doing my best to ignore the nurse tucking me back and rearranging the hospital gown along with whatever the hell else is going on. Need to get out of here.

"Where am I?" I croak. I have to know. Most important thing.

"You're in a hospital right now," the guy says. Guy nurse from earlier. Joy.

"Which state?" I think I even managed to sound annoyed, that time.

"Wyoming," he tells me.

"You guys have hospitals?" Having been in various hospitals in every state more than once, I'm not actually surprised. But let him figure out this isn't my old stomping grounds. If he's smart enough, that is. "Need a phone," I tell him.

"You remembering things now?"

"Just a number, I need a phone," I repeat, holding out my good hand. He looks at me dubiously, and I figure if anyone should be getting a weird look, it's him. I really don't appreciate all that attention he was giving me. Way too touchy feely.

Reaching over me, he pulls a corded phone away from its receiver, and I look up. I can't reach the numbers.

"You're kidding me, right?" I ask, because I'm in too much pain for tact, I'm too friggin' pissed to really care about anything, right then. My Common Sense can just go to hell. I'm not using it.

_reviews? :} Anyways, I will have a new more complete chapter up soon, but... hey. This one ends here, apparently. _


	2. Chapter 2

_sorry this one is short, but it seems like it's a good place to end that particular chapter, for all it's... lame. Sorry guys. For Mish, as always, I never forgot about her birthday, really. Or this fic. _

**Chapter 2 **

_I'm broken, when I'm lonesome. And I don't feel right when you're gone away. _

_Seether_

Dean let out a moaning groan as he felt various joints pop and crack as he rose to his feet. He was used to it, in some ways, by now. Sounding older than he was, but the pain was new, and uncomfortable. No point in hiding that from Bobby, as he let the older man ease his arm over his shoulders so that they could walk down the hallway.

"Not sure you're so ready to be out of the hospital yet, Boy," Bobby groused quietly. Dean shrugged with one shoulder.

"Not so sure I care," he pointed out, "I gotta find Sam. I can't believe you haven't heard anything from him yet. He has your number, and he's gotta be fine." Dean shut his eyes tightly, locking his jaw for a few minutes, "I can't remember, Bobby. I can't remember where we were hunting."

"Just another thing to bill those angels from, come judgment day," Bobby told him calmly, keeping his pace matched to the younger man's shuffling walk. "I should never have brought you clothes," he grumbled, wishing to force Dean back into the hospital bed for just a few days more. But he knew the man wasn't going to heal any worrying himself sick over Sam's wellbeing. So the best he could do would be to help him start looking. "I'm sure Sam's fine, if those dicks in the clouds are telling you they're keeping him around," he pointed out, eyeing the younger man sideways.

"I don't care, Bobby, I don't care what they want! I need to know where Sam is, I need to know he's okay! I _died_ for him, I've got a bit of a stake in him living a while longer, okay?"

"I know, you think I don't care about your brother? You idjit," Bobby spat in disgust. "I'm just worried you're pushing yourself too hard, you know Sam's fine. Otherwise why hold Sam over your head like bait?"

"Because I wouldn't know if he was dead. They could make me jump through all these hoops just to find out…" Dean swallowed hard, "Just to find out that he's been dead the whole time."

"Dean, I think if they could kill you or your brother they'dve done it already, you're both annoying enough."

"At least I'm good looking," Dean pointed out with a grin, trying to lighten the mood. He didn't think he could handle dealing with any of the implications of Sam's absence for much longer. For all it was eating at him, a slow cancerous growth born of terror, fighting his heart's every beat. Have to find Sam. Suddenly, he blurted out, "Sam'n I are all that's left, I'm supposed to be looking out for him, I gotta find him Bobby, I just gotta find him."

"And _we_ will, boy, so stop thinking about it, and worry about where you're putting your feet," Bobby snapped, when Dean staggered for the third or fourth time, almost dragging Bobby down with him.

"I'm watching my feet!" Dean insisted, "But it's not doing me a lot of good," he coughed weakly.

"I shoulda gotten you a wheelchair."

"Like hell I'm leaving in that," he bit off, annoyed.

"Well then, you wouldn't be leaving at all then, would you?"

Dean wisely kept his mouth shut, in that it wasn't too late to force him into one. But he didn't want Bobby wheeling him out. Just because his body was a mess of holes and shooting agony didn't mean he couldn't walk himself out of a hospital. The day that happened, he'd stay in until he was good enough to escape. He was always well enough to get out, usually. Just doctors and running their tests and everything else…it got so boring. But then there was Sammy, trying to get him to stay just another day, one more day, with those huge puppy dog eyes. And it usually worked for a few hours at a time.

Glad to sink into Bobby's old car, he let his eyes close, shifting so his shoulder was against the door. When Bobby slid into the driver's seat, his eyes flicked to all his mirrors, rearview last, causing him to startle when he saw something, no, someone.

"Damnit to hell," Bobby snapped, startling Dean into full awareness as he twisted painfully to view the backseat.

"Son of a bitch," hissed out between clenched teeth, and Dean let his body untwist and chose to watch Cas from the mirror. "What the hell do you want?"

"You're not fully healed."

"And you think that matters? It's never mattered before," Dean pointed out irritably. "In fact, I won't be all the way healed until Sam gets his ass right here, and I've got my car back!"

"The car is possible."

"What the hell's that mean? You'll give me my car, but not Sam?" Dean was pretty sure this was a decent trade, from an angel. He could use his car to find Sam. It wasn't like he was stupid enough to promise jack shit to an angel. Especially not one that was keeping his brother away from him. Closing his eyes. "So, you'll just give me my car back? No strings attached? Is that what I'm getting?"

"No."

"Then no deal."

Bobby was watching the interchange silently. Last time they had 'met' this angel, Castiel had put him under for the duration of his talk with Dean. This time he'd rather remain conscious, if unnoticed.

"Why must you be so stupid?" Cas asked in exasperation. "Don't you understand? You are better without your brother, safer."

Shocked at seeing even a glimmer of emotion on the angel's face and in his voice, Dean's eyes went round, before he shifted to face him. "Look, I don't know what it's like to be an angel hiding up in the clouds or whatever it is you dicks do all day, but I have a family, and just because it doesn't mean a damn thing to you doesn't mean I don't care!" Locking onto that ice blue stare, "I am _not_ doing anything without my brother! Don't you get that? I have to have someone watching my back, because you idiots are never around when you're needed!"

"We are trying to stop the seals from being broken!"

"Well you're all sure doing a damn bang up job of it, I mean how many are broken now? Seems to me like you guys can't do anything right!"

"We are at least trying to act, trying to fight," Castiel persisted, and all Dean wanted to do was hit him. Hard. One of these days, he was going to. Even if it broke his hand.

"And I'm not? I'm out there every day, hunting down some new evil you guys never had time for in the first place, just sitting on your asses relaxing in the clouds while us Hunters do all the work! You do your job, and I'll do mine!" the pain was increasing, and Dean knew that Cas was attempting to force him to stay in the hospital. He was practically clinging to Bobby in an attempt to stay standing despite the pain. The aloneness of it all hurt him. Sam should be there, watching over him, helping him cope by being a pain in the ass. Standing up to Cas, too. God Dean was miserable. Spitting blood onto the floor, "You give me back my brother or you get the hell away from me, because I will find a way to kill you."

Seeming shocked, almost, the angel's eyes rounded, before his jaw set in a hard line. "You don't know what you're asking for," he said, and then disappeared.

Dean heaved a sigh of relief, and Bobby stared. "Maybe we should be keeping you in the hospital a day or two longer, you alright there boy?"

"I'm fine," Dean smiled, flicking a tongue over his teeth to wash the blood away. "You haven't heard from Sam, not the whole time I've been in this hellhole?"

"Not a thing, and I've checked all the phones I have," Bobby shifted his cap some, before tugging it down snuggly. "You're so damn determined to get out of here," he started, then shook his head a little, "Let's get movin' then."

"Yes sir," Dean replied enthusiastically. Then they could find Sam.

Dean woke up off the couch, before stretching his body out. He'd fallen asleep in sweatpants in preparation for morning. He hadn't told Bobby what he was planning to get up to, for one he was sick of being called 'idjit' and now matter how much he loved the man, sometimes it got old hearing how stupid he was, all the time. Pleased to feel his body stretching the way it should, he'd never been particularly flexible, but he could still touch his toes. Usually. Unless some massive injury was preventing him. Currently it wasn't. All the 'bullet holes' felt closed and healed. If still sore and tender to the touch. Bobby insisted on him resting all the time, and it was starting to wear him down. The sun was up, and Dean was ready to be moving again. Slipping on a battered pair of tennis shoes, wearing boots was not a good idea for this particular venture. Lacing them tightly, he rotated his ankles and wiggled his toes. They still fit, and he was going to be fine.

Quietly slipping out the back door, Dean figured that a light jog and then on the way back a short sprint wouldn't hurt him. Or if it would, the jog would be making him aware of it in plenty of time to spare. Setting out, the sun was warm, for all it wasn't full day yet, and it felt good. He felt good. Bobby thought he had a lead on Sam's whereabouts, and both were sure that the angels were stopping Sam's calls from reaching them. But that was just too bad, because Dean was good at finding people. And he was going to find Sam.

The jog didn't hurt, not really. The air had a bite to it, and it made Dean's lungs burn. It always had, and it always would. Cold always hurt him; he wasn't too sure about why, because he really didn't mind it too much so long as he wasn't trying to breathe deeply. But his legs felt strong, his chest wasn't aching, and he hadn't developed a stitch. The steady pounding of his feet against the dust road eventually started to hurt, but only a little. Not enough to make him stop, but enough to make him turn around. Figuring it would be best if he sprinted before he got to the house, so that he was walking back up to it with less chance of Bobby catching him running, he broke into a run, body leaned just a little forward, chest out and arms moving smoothly as his reached his stride. His legs stretched out, knees coming up, before his feet hit the ground, and came back up to give the appearance of almost touching his ass in a full extension. Once he knew he'd hit his top speed, he let his stride break apart, hitting the ground harder and more awkwardly as he felt his stride over-lengthen before turning into smaller steps and he turned it back into a light jog.

"Son of a bitch," he wheezed, seeing Bobby waiting for him on the front steps as he turned his jog into a walk, and bending over, hands on knees to heave in a few breaths before reaching the porch stairs, and a good dressing down.

"Feel better now?" Bobby asked gruffly.

In complete shock, Dean shrugged a little, straightening up, hands on hips to open his rib cage and allow for more oxygen, "Yeah, guess so," he grinned, still panting.

"Looks like you needed that, you ready to find Sam?"

"Hell yeah."

"Then get your ass in the car."

"No breakfast?"

"That's in there, too."

"Oh thank god," Dean grinned. "Knew you wouldn't me down."

"Do I ever?"

"Only when it comes to having a good wingman in the bars."

"Like you need a wingman," he snorted, "now get your stupid ass into the car." Shaking his head, Bobby watched Dean shift himself into the passenger seat, almost sitting on his breakfast before realizing it was there, and grinning. Rolling his eyes at the double thumbs up he received, Bobby slid into the driver's seat. "You do realize that the minute we get somewhere you can change, you have to. And shower. You smell like three day old roadkill in the middle o'summer." Rolling down the windows and wrinkling his nose in disgust, Bobby waved a hand in front of his face.

"I smell nothing like Sam does after a run," Dean pointed out irritably.

"But you sure as hell don't smell like no bed a'roses," Bobby snapped, before grinning a little.

Knowing it was a battle he just wasn't going to win, Dean rolled down his window, letting the wind dry the sweat, before looking into the small paper bag containing breakfast. Bacon wrapped in a paper towel, some of those flat sausage patties, and then some once-frozen waffles. The Breakfast of Champions.

"So where're we headed?"

"I heard some things from other hunters 'bout someone matching Sam's description, looking a little banged up, but okay. If it's Sam, he's even helped out on a hunt or two, apparently. If it's not, well, it's probably just the angels screwing with us."

"Well good thing we can think for ourselves, so we're gonna find Sam. No matter how they play us."

"Well eventually he's gonna show up," Bobby said reasonably, not feeling any need to crush Dean's hopes. It was the most spirit and determination he'd shown since getting out of the hospital. That confrontation with the angel had drained him, and Bobby hadn't been so sure he shouldn't put Dean back in a hospital bed. "How hard's it gonna be to find one real-life Sasquatch, huh?"

Dean grinned. "Harder than you think, sometimes since his phone's not working. And I can't get ahold of the GPS for it, either." It was as if Sam had disappeared off the planet. Dean doubted it, what would the angels do with him in the time being? Probably watch Sam figure out a way free of the holding cell and get back to him. They were family, all that was left, and Sam should be there. With him. They should be together.

Bobby watched as Dean slowly slid into sleep over the course of the next hundred miles.


End file.
